My Angel Without Wings
by Fayth Anne Chandler
Summary: During Harry's sixth year, he falls into a deep depression. He grieves Sirius' death and cannot bear to lose anymore. Hermione is the only one who can see through his fake smiles. Can she save him before he destroys himself? Will he let her? HP/HG
1. When Angels Cry Blood

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or its characters. They belong to J.K Rowling and the publisher.

**Author's Note:** I rewrote this story to make it better. It was so horribly written before that I felt compelled to rewrite it entirely. It is essentially the same story, but there are improvements in the way it is written and more details. I also wrote more scenes in Hermione's POV than when it was first written.

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**My Angel Without Wings**

**By:** Fayth Anne Chandler

**Chapter 1: When Angels Cry Blood**

Aren't heros supposed to be strong and brave? Aren't they supposed to bathe in their own glory? Well, it was nothing but a facade no one could see through. With every turn Harry made, there was a whirlwind of chaos and death.

Of course, he did have his fan girls and the reporters were dying to interview him about his encounters with Voldemort. By the way the other students at Hogwarts looked at him, he knew that they, too, wanted to grill him with an endless fountain of probing questions. And some had even tried to before, but he had either ignored them, or Hermione and Ron had lured them away from him. Thank Merlin for them. The world wanted him to relive his worst memories, but he all he wanted to do was to forget them. Other than the lightening bolt scar on his forehead, he had an abundance of other scars—scars left on his soul.

It was invisible ones that had damaged him the most.

He felt so far away from everyone, detached from himself. He put on a mask of lies for everyone. Harry Potter was the golden hero in the wizarding world, but from the inside he was nothing special. The world saw someone capable of admirable bravery. He really wasn't brave at all, though, behind closed doors. After all, he wasn't brave enough to face his own problems.

He barely slept, for whenever he would drift away from the real world, images of terror would plague his subconscious mind. It was in his sleep where he felt his most vulnerable, because it was there that he couldn't fight back. The pain, the haunting memories, he tried to stamp down on a day to day basis crawled their way into his sleep, forcing him to relive his past horrors. No spell could ward away the nightmares, either. It didn't matter how much he studied in hopes of finding such a spell. There was no such thing, he realized.

Harry saw things a person should never have seen, and he experienced a loneliness no one could understand. His whole existence was laid out for him for the world to see, and yet no one really knew him behind the mask he wore. People wanted to be around him simply because of his famous name, and yet, the ones who really cared for the real person he was would vanish from his

life. They all seemed to die—except Hermione and Ron. He only prayed that they weren't next. The mere thought was unbearable.

Sometimes he didn't really know why he did it. The scars of his internal turmoil lay hidden beneath the robe of his sleeves. Perhaps, he deserved to have the pain inflicted upon him in such a way. At the very least, it helped the other pain—the one splintering his soul-fade away.

"Harry," came Hermione's voice, snapping him out of his daydream. "Are you okay?"

"Yes . . ." answered Harry.

Faint bruises circled his eyes, which he had gotten from sleep deprivation. Aside from the weariness, he appeared older. It was Harry's sixth year. His usual untidy hair was a little more tamed, and he had grown over the summer; Quidditch had given him a more athletic build, although it was mostly hidden beneath his loose dark robe. Quidditch was a nice escape as well.

"Just a bit tired," he continued. A small smile curved upon his lips to reassure his best friend, who was eyeing him with worry coloring her features. Glancing at the clock above the fireplace, Harry realized it was midnight. Hermione, Ron, and him were still working on the piles of homework their professors had been so generous to load them with.

Ron stifled a long yawn. "It is getting pretty late," he muttered, his eyes heavy set. Gathering his books, he stood to his feet. While peering down at them, he said, "I'm turning in."

Hermione nodded at him as he left to the boy's dormitory

Staring after his ginger haired crony, Harry couldn't help but feel envious of him for being able to sleep so soundly. He would have given just about anything to be able to have a peaceful night of sleep without the nightmares that seemed to forever haunt him. When he stood up to leave, he was immediately stopped by a firm grip on his arm.

"Wait . . ." Her brown eyed gaze locked with him.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" Concern was written all over her face, which he appreciated, but there wasn't anything she could do to help him. "You know, you can tell me anything," she said softly.

Staring into her eyes, he could see the how genuine her concern for him was. When no one else seemed to notice that something was wrong with Harry, Hermione was the one who did. It was like she could see right through him, her eyes piercing through the shell he encased himself with. It was then that he had the urge to let her know everything, to spill his heart out to her, but he did not want her to worry so much about him. It appeared she already did enough of that, anyway. He could not burden his best friend. And it wasn't like she could really understand him. So, he squelched the urge. The nagging suspicion that she would most likely go straight to Dumbledore to share his problems was in the back of his mind. "I'm fine," he simply said. Turning away from her, he scooped up his books and retreated to his dorm room.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Hermione watched him leave. She had seen Harry's hesitation and the question that dancing in his bright green eyes. It was as if he were trying to decide whether or not it was best to share his feelings with her. She couldn't decide if his inability to confide in her was something that hurt her feelings. Of course, it did hurt that he didn't seem to want to talk to her. It was obvious that he was hiding something. Over the past several months, he had become withdrawn and secretive.

When he thought no one was looking, she had caught the haunted look in his eyes as he stared off into the distance.

She knew he had been through more than a person ought to-he had been through hell. But she wanted him to talk to her, to open up. She could barely even recognize him, and it wasn't only because of how much older he looked, it was because of how weary he looked and how hollow his eyes had become.

Her best friend would constantly inform her that he was doing fine, but she knew something was wrong. Even his weak, tight smiles could not hide it from her. His smiles did not reach his eyes. She wasn't stupid, even if he assumed she was, and she definitely wasn't blind. What did Harry honestly take her for? Perhaps whatever it was that was bothering him wasn't something to really worry about and she was overreacting, but still, it tugged at her heart strings. Some niggling feeling inside told her that she wasn't overreacting.

**...**

**...**

**...**

The next day, Harry was unusually quiet. He picked at the food in his plate with a fork. It was lunch time in the Great Hall, which was filled with a choir of loud voices and laughter. It was a whole different world in his eyes-a world where people lived normal lives. The worst things that happened in that world was getting cheated on by a significant other, or receiving an failing grade on an exam. The simple cares people had were so far from Harry's own world. How he longed to be like them. He wanted so much to worry about those simple things, but he had Voldemort to worry about and so much more. He longed for the simplicity that everyone around him seemed to hate.

If only he weren't Harry Potter. If only Voldemort hadn't chosen him, or his family.

"What's the matter, Harry?" asked Ron, with a mouthful of food.

Harry's head snapped up to attention. "Nothing."

Ron cast Hermione a questioning glance, but she shrugged. He then turned to engage in a conversation with Seamus and Dean.

"Next week is Hogsmeade weekend." Hermione said, in her attempt to bring Harry's spirits up. She looked hopeful as she tried to hold Harry's gaze.

He forced a smile, although it was pinched at the corners. "It should be fun."

All three of them stood up after the bell of dismissal. "Oy, a galleon." Ron bent down and picked it up from the floor.

"Oh, look Weasel's found money." A drawling voice came from behind the trio. Draco Malfoy stood there with a look of amusement painted across his face. His attention focused on Harry in particular, much to his annoyance. "Potter, you're in luck. Maybe he could buy you a new family." An unpleasant smirk curled on Malfoy's lips.

Outraged, Harry whipped around and glared at him. He began to shake with a fury he hadn't felt in a while. A rare fit of rage that had come during his third year of school when his aunt Marge had insulted his father, and last year when his god-father had been murdered before his eyes.

Someone placed a soothing hand upon his shoulder. "No, Harry." Hermione's soft voice was at his ear. "It's not worth it. Ignore him."

Draco and the group of Slytherins standing behind him broke out into fits of mocking laughter. "What's the matter, Scarhead? You look like you've got your knickers in a twist," Draco taunted. Are you going to cry for your dead mum and dad?"

That was it for Harry. At that moment, he had lost all restraint and

rationality. Lunging at the blond git, he roughly shoved him back into the Gryffindor table, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt before pushing him onto the floor. Wrapping his hands firmly around Draco's neck, he cut off his breath. Blinded by the fury that had overtaken him, Harry began to slam the other boy's head against the floor. Again and again.

Draco's eyes widened as he tried to push hard against Harry's chest.

A huge group of students circled around them, cheering them on.

"Harry!" Hermione called out to him, trying to pry Harry away from Draco.

"What's the meaning of this?" came a cold voice. Professor McGonnagall.

Suddenly Harry was ripped from Draco's body, and he was set onto his feet so hard his knees wobbled. Looking back, Harry saw Snape glowering at him. The professor then grabbed him by the collar of his robes. "Potter!" he hissed.

"Severus! Leave Potter to me as I am head of his House, and you deal with Malfoy," McGonnagall said.

With one last glare at Harry, Snape released his hold on him. "Come." He hauled Draco up to his feet and led him out of the Great Hall.

"This way," McGonnagall ordered. Harry was led down a stretching corridor. As soon as they arrived in her office, he was instructed to sit down, and he reluctantly obliged. She raked him with a scathing look, but it didn't really faze him. He had faced real horrors, and his teacher was not one of them. "What's gotten into you, Potter? You haven't gotten into a fight before."

"He deserved it," Harry said without thinking.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It doesn't matter. You do not go attacking students!"

Harry remained silent, trying to reign in his temper.

"You will receive detention for a week and 100 points off from Gryffindor."

He grimaced. "But Professor-"

"It is settled," she cut him off. "You may leave now."

The chair scraped across stone as he got to his feet and made his exit. Even a few hours spent in his room were not enough to cool his anger. What happened with Draco wasn't the only thing he was angry about, either.

Even after a week passed since their fight, he felt the anger burn through his veins. What was he angry about? Everything. He had kept it all bottled up inside for as long as he could remember. The tension and the weight of the burdens keeping him grew worse with every passing day. He was ready to explode any moment now.

Locking himself inside the quiet of the bathroom in his dorm, he drew out his wand from his trousers and summoned his sharp edged companion—a razor-like instrument—before he lifted the sleeve of his robes. The edge

pressed against the surface of his forearm. He forced it roughly, ripping at his pale skin, right along the lines marking his scars from the past several months. Red beaded at the surface, and he gritted his teeth at the rush of of the pain. His breath caught in his throat as he was brought to euphoria. All other senses vanished around him.

He could no longer think of anything else for the short moments the euphoric feeling lasted. Voldemort's face, Cedric's lifeless form, Sirius, his parents' screams before they had died . . .

It was all fading away. Each horrid memory spilled with every drop of blood. He cried blood for every pain, memory, and nightmare. With each drop- with each sting, he lost himself. Harry was lost to the world and lost to himself. And no one could find him.


	2. No More Lies

**My Angel Without Wings**

**Chapter 2: No More Lies**

With a gentle thud, the metallic instrument landed in the sink, a crimson river spiraling down the drain. Gashes of past memories were lined in crooked patterns, marring the skin on Harry's arms. Watching the blood flow, his eyes held no expression ; they were like desolate pools. After the euphoria passed, he had become numb. He had never imagined how cold he would grow inside after all this time. All of the grace and the innocence everyone started out with had died so long ago. Staring back at his reflection in the mirror, he saw into the void of his eyes, the wasteland which lay hidden behind the windows of his soul. Dust had gathered on the stone tomb, which had been shaped by his past and it now held his heart.

And as the river of blood flowed down the sink, he died a little more.

There was a sudden knock on the door. "Harry?" Ron's voice came from behind the door.

Flinching in surprise, Harry seemed to snap out of his numb-like state, eyes widening with alarm.

"Bloody hell. Are you still in there?" Ron knocked harder this time.

Harry went stock still, at a loss for what to do. Before he could move, a dark, sinister voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Don't stop. _It sounded an awful lot like Voldemort's voice. _Be silent and your friend will go away. _The voice bathed him in cold, causing him to shiver all the way to his bones.

For a moment, Harry actually considered listening.

"Harry!"

Ron's voice reached out to him, and it acted almost like a spell to counter his dark thoughts. Blinking, Harry dug into the pocket of his jacket in search of his wand. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. How could he have been so idiotic? He was an absolute block headed imbecile. Without his wand he could not make the blood stop spilling from his fresh wounds. Maybe if he stayed quiet Ron would leave him alone. But he would not keep cutting, he decided.

Harry was wrong, though. His mate was determined not to give up. His timing could not be more convenient. Ron was now banging on the door with an annoying persistence. "Come on! 'Mione and I have been waiting for at least a half hour. Everyone's already left to the village."

Then it finally dawned on Harry-he had made plans to join his best friends in Hogsmeade. _How lovely._ He felt like the biggest idiot. "Hold on," he answered. He ripped the toilet paper to dab at his cuts. Hoping blood wouldn't continue to rush out, he slipped his sleeves down. Tossing the stained paper into the toilet, he flushed it down. Running the faucet, he watched the crimson river wash away, and then snagged the razor and stashed it in a safe spot. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to face the outside world. When he finally opened the door, he came face to face with an irritated Ron.

"Well, it's about time!" The ginger haired boy had his arms crossed firmly over his chest, his freckled face a glower.

"I forgot all about Hogsmeade," Harry admitted sheepishly.

At once, Ron started for the exit.

Right then, Harry spotted his wand on his bed. He picked it up and glanced at the other boy. "Um, I need another minute." What excuse could he give to be alone? His arm needed to be tended to, a quick spell to stop the bleeding.

Ron spun on his heel and rolled his eyes. He grabbed Harry firmly by the arm, practically dragging him out of the dorm room. "No, you've taken long enough."

Harry thought of pulling away from him and retreating back into his room, but Ron and Hermione already thought his behavior had been strange as of late. He could not risk making them more suspicious. If they discovered what he really did when he was alone, then they would never want to leave him alone-maybe they would be afraid of him.

Once they were in Hogsmeade, Harry appeared nonchalant, even as he felt the blood beginning to trickle down his arm. He inconspicuously pressed the fabric of his sleeve against the sting of the cuts. From the corner of his eye, he felt Hermione's watchful stare.

"Harry. Are you okay?" she asked gently. That single question he loathed so much. Curse his luck.

"I'm fine," he snapped, and he felt a tinge of guilt. It wasn't her fault he was an emotionally disturbed freak and he couldn't handle his grief quite well. He hated himself, almost as much as he hated Voldemort.

Hermione knew him all too well, though, and Harry knew by meeting her eyes that she could see through the mask he was putting on. Though no one else noticed his lies, she could it seemed. Her lips parted, and she looked about to say something, but then she closed her mouth. Thank Merlin she didn't press the matter further.

Glancing over at Ron, Harry bit back a rude remark at the fact that the other boy was as oblivious as ever, busy drooling over a Ravenclaw girl.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on, Harry. Let's go to the Three Broomsticks." She led Harry toward the exit of Zonko's Joke Shop.

"What about Ron?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "He'll come when he's ready." Her voice dripped annoyance. At least she was acting like herself again. She glanced over her shoulder at Ron. "Ron, we're going to be in the Three Broomsticks."

The boy nodded and went back to conversing with his new found crush.

Hermione grabbed Harry by the wrist as she guided him out of the shop. Her fingers put a stinging pressure on his open cuts. Blood soaked through his sleeve.

Wincing, he drew his arm out of her grasp.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Hermione paused, turning to him, looking to him in askance. Taken aback by Harry's reaction, her brows arched with surprise. Then her gaze fell on his arm, and she saw something that made her stomach turn and her pulse quicken. Was it really what she thought it was, though? It couldn't be . . .

But even as she tried to deny it, she couldn't explain away the dark liquid mingled with the material of his sleeve. A look of horror contorted her features. "Harry, is that . . . blood?"

For a moment, she caught a flicker of panic behind his spectacles. "I fell and scraped my arm on something," he said, a little too quick for her liking.

Incredulous and speechless, she seized his arm.

He tried to pull away, but she had already lifted his sleeve.

Gasping at the horrific sight, Hermione's eyes widened. Deep gashes lined his arm, along with old scars that were forever tattooed on his skin. Her eyes teared up, her heart breaking. "Harry . . ." she whispered.

He pulled his arm hastily away from her weakened grip. Shoving down his

sleeve, he quickly surveyed the area, most likely searching for anyone who may have noticed the exchange between them. Harry avoided her eyes, suddenly looking vulnerable, and her heart throbbed with pain for him. She had only seen him that way a couple of times before. Her fingers itched to reach for him, to grab him and hug him to her. But she had a feeling he would not accept it, not right then when he was looking as though he wanted to flee from her very presence. That hurt her even more.

"How long?" Her voice trembled as she spoke, almost a whisper. "How long have you been doing this?"

"I don't want to talk about it," muttered Harry, while he was staring past her shoulder. Why wouldn't he look at her? She was caught off guard when he pushed her aside and started walking away.

She reached for his jacket, her fingers just barely able to snatch at the fabric, squeezing tightly. "Harry!" She realized that she sounded like a helpless small child.

Roughly, he pulled away from her, which caused her to stumble back into another girl, who looked like a seventh year Slytherin.

"Watch it!" the girl exclaimed, aiming a petulant look at Hermione.

Hermione was too distraught to care about apologizing, her gaze reverting back to her best friend. She rushed forward, reaching for him, but he hastily dodged her. The way he looked at her, with so much fury in his eyes, gave her pause. He had never looked at her that way before. Not once. It felt like she was staring back at a stranger. "Leave me alone," he snapped, anger burning through his tone. With that, he turned his back on her and hurried away, his figure growing smaller with each step he took toward the castle. Although everything inside her wanted to chase after him, her feet remained glued to their spot. Her mind was screaming, but it was like her body and her mind weren't connecting.

"Don't walk away from me!" she called after him, even though she knew he probably couldn't hear her by now. The dam broke and the burning pressure behind her eyes eased as her tears slid down her cheeks. The horror of what she had seen played over and over in her mind like a broken film. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach as she envisioned Harry's fresh cuts. Her heart was torn.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Later that evening, Harry was sitting in a squashy arm chair in front of the blazing hearth in the common room. With a far away look, his eyes focused on the twisting flames, face illuminated from the A shadow loomed over him. Apparently, he wasn't the only one in the common room like he thought he was.

"Harry . . ." It was Hermione's soft voice that broke the silence.

He did not look at her. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on the flames dancing fiercely upon the logs in the fireplace, as though they were the most fascinating thing to hold captive his attention. "You told Dumbledore, didn't you?" Bitterness seeped into his voice. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh with her. It wasn't that he was angry with her, either. He was mostly angry with himself for being so weak. Why, when everyone in the wizarding world thought him so strong, did he feel like the weakest person?

"No," she said quietly.

"I suppose you told Ron then?"

Again, she said, "No." She came from behind him and settled in an armchair beside him. "I didn't tell anyone."

Stunned, Harry's head snapped toward her. A sense of relief then rushed through him. There was a long silence, and he could feel her eyes on him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

At last, she broke the tense silence. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you worry too much," said Harry impatiently.

"You could have died." Her voice was no louder than a whisper, but he could hear her clearly.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I should have," he muttered.

As her eyes teared up, his chest squeezed tight with guilt. The last thing he wanted was to cause Hermione, one of the most important people to him, pain. "Don't say that," she pleaded.

So, why couldn't he stop himself from speaking?

"Let it slip into my veins. I don't care anymore," Harry exclaimed.

Just then, her tears spilled, and his gut clenched at the sight. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I care. Ron cares. His family, Hagrid, Dumbledore-"

"That won't stop me," he cut her off. All the pent up anger he had been keeping bottled up inside his being was rapidly releasing, and Hermione was the unfortunate target at that particular moment. After all this time—of faking his smiles and playing the part of _hero_-he could no longer restrain himself.

"Don't our feelings matter, Harry?" Hermione sounded desperate, her bottom lip starting to quaver.

As his eyes fell on her, it felt like he was looking at her for the first time. Her eyes were tortured. There was also something else in them that he could not put a finger on. The way the light from the fire sparkled in her coffee brown eyes, it cast her face with a delicate glow. Something struck him right then. He had never noticed how beautiful his best friend really was before, and especially now after she had tamed her unruly mass of hair. But then, he had always found her old bushy hair endearing in a way, reminding him of how uncontrollable she could become when provoked. Her hair now fell in gentle loose waves around the angles of her lovely face.

What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

He couldn't think of his best friend like that, and especially not at a time like this. "Look, Hermione, nothing you say will change my mind."

"Why?" Her voice broke.

The despair weighed on him. She was making him feel like he was a horrible person. "I can't! It won't stop!" The pain he had hidden so well was now plainly written across his face, he knew. The long hidden agony he had desperately tried to hide for so long . . .

"I understand why you're doing this, Harry. So many terrible things have happened to you." Her voice was soothing.

While he averted his eyes, he heard her get up from her seat and the tell tale pattering of her feet as she began to walk away. She was going to leave him. Something inside him shook. Of course, he deserved to be left behind after the way he had treated her. "Hermione," he called out to her before she was gone. There was a note of desperation to his voice.

Hermione froze in her tracks and turned to look at him.

"Stay with me, will you?"

What surprised him was that she didn't hesitate at his request. She sat down beside him. "I'll always be here for you, Harry." Her voice seemed to melt the ice inside Harry. He wanted her to keep talking. Leaning closer, she placed her hand gently upon his.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" Her voice soft and beautiful as a melody.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier." The shame and guilt washed over him like a black sea, ready to drown his senses away.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Oh, Harry, you don't have to apologize."

Harry looked at her. "Yes, I do. You didn't deserve any of it." There was a long pause before he continued. "I started . . . ever since S-Sirius died." His gaze flicked back to the fire. After his confession, he could not bring himself to look at Hermione. The tears welling in her eyes pricked a soft spot in his heart. If he watched her cry, he would probably start crying as well. "I just . . . I got sick of it, sick of everything. I'd had enough to last me a lifetime-enough pain . . ." he trailed off. He couldn't even recognize his own voice. He sounded so vulnerable, so unlike himself. He hated to show anyone he was weak, and strangely he felt comfortable right then opening himself to his best friend. Perhaps it was because she actually wanted to listen to what he had to say.

"I felt like maybe I deserved the punishment," he continued. "Maybe I asked for it. I started to leave a mark for all the things I could never express. The words wouldn't come out, even if I wanted them to."

Hermione wiped her swollen eyes. "But why-"

"Because it felt good! I didn't have to think of anything else but the pain I gave myself. "

**...**

**...**

**...**

"You don't have to do this," said Hermione. Her voice was trembling. In fact, her whole body was. As she took in the boy at her side, she saw someone who had been dealt a cruel hand in life, someone who had endured hell from a very young age. His soul was covered in scars, she realized.

Once again, she found that she wanted to touch him, to comfort him in some way. But after the explosive way he had acted just a minutes ago, she thought her affection would be unwelcome. She was afraid of scaring him away. It had taken a lot for him to start confiding in her. She didn't want to risk him retracting back into the shell he had built around himself. One wrong move and he just might shut himself off from her.

"Harry . . . just promise me one thing." She sounded stronger, more confident now.

He looked at her, which she was grateful for since he'd been avoiding her searching gaze.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she said, "Promise me . . . promise that you will come to me whenever you feel that way-whenever you want to hurt yourself."

"But what if I can't find-" Harry started.

"You have the mauraders map." He opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione spoke again. "Please, Harry," she pleaded. Tears were flowing freely down her face now.

He grimaced. "Fine. I promise." He stood up, his eyes cast to the floor.

A weak smile formed, and she nearly threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. "Harry, I'm so sorry you have to go through all of this," she said, her voice a whisper. His body tensed against hers, and she sensed his reluctance, but then he relaxed and held her to him. Her eyes closed, and she became acutely aware of just how close they were, flush against one another. Instead of feeling chagrined, she reveled in the closeness. This wasn't the first time they had hugged. This was different, though. They were holding each other. The feel of his arms snug around her made her heart flutter.

How many times had she daydreamed of him just holding her like this? She wouldn't tell him, but this one moment meant the world to her. She also treasured his trust in her, knowing that it hadn't been easy for him to tell her what he had been feeling this whole time. Hermione wasn't stupid, though. The closeness they were sharing didn't mean the same thing to him that it did to her. She knew he didn't feel the same way about her. Yes, she—Hermione Jean Granger—was in love with her best friend. It was her secret and had been for about a year. He didn't have romantic feelings for her, and even though it made her ache, she was okay with it. As long as he was her friend—as long as he was safe—she was okay. She was content just to spend time with him.

"Thank you, I really needed that," he murmured.

Hermione smiled. "Anytime." As she started to wipe away her tears, he gripped her arm to stop her.

"I'll do that." He pressed his thumb to her face, dabbing gently at her tear streaked face. A shiver passed through her at his feathery touch.  
It was the first time he had ever touched her like that.

The moment was short lived when he suddenly dropped his hand from her. He looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I just thought, you know, since I was the one that made you cry-" he stammered.

"It's okay." There was a stretching silence between them. "Well, it's late. We should probably turn in."


	3. Losing Yourself

**My Angel Without Wings**

**Chapter 3: Losing Yourself**

Tossing and turning, Harry dared not lose himself to sleep until he absolutely had no choice. He had gotten four hours of sleep the previous night. The nightmares clawing an insidious path into his slumber were too much to bear. He chose to avoid it for as long as he could. Laying on his back and staring up at the dark ceiling, his eyes were wide open. Although his body was past the point of exhaustion, he waited for the sun to rise. Each moment was a passing eternity, pushing Harry over the edge. With each moment, his eyes fluttered closed as he tried to remain conscious. The distant rays of the sun peeked over the horizon in preparation to rise. At last, he could no longer delay the inevitable and he drifted off to sleep.

Darkness slithered its way into his mind and reminded him of past horrors he longed so much to forget. Haunting screams of death and eyes that watched him in the dark. Voldemort's eyes. Cedric's empty eyes staring at him and his skin of deathly white. Pale fingers extended, he reached out for Harry. Images of Sirius rushed through the long corridors of Harry's mind, and then he vanished before Harry's eyes. Suddenly when all of the tormenting images faded, the darkness enveloped him, crushing with an unbearable weight. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to breathe. Water filled his lungs as he drowned in some kind of black sea. Gasping for breath, he desperately tried to reach for something, anything to get him out of this hell. He fell into himself as the surface below him vanished.

Gasping, Harry jolted awake. Beads of sweat coated his skin. He plucked his eye glasses from the nightstand and put them on. A glance at the clock told him that he had only gotten about three hours of sleep this time. His body ached with exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, threatening to close.

"Harry!" Ron stood in the doorway fully dressed. "You're not up, yet? You're going to be late for Quidditch practice."

_Bloody Merlin. _Harry rubbed at his tousled head. "It starts at half past eleven, right?"

Ron nodded. "You still have fifteen minutes." He walked out of the room.

With reluctance, Harry rolled off the bed. Peeling off his clothes, he stepped into the shower. The warm water pouring down on him was soothing against his aching form. After he finished preparing himself in the bathroom, he quickly donned his Quidditch robe. Good thing he had an extra robe folded in his drawer. His other robe was stashed in the locker room. Harry dashed out of his room and made it to practice a couple minutes late. Thankfully, no one had noticed.

During practice, he spotted the golden snitch. He raced for the snitch on his

broom. A whirl of red hair moved past him-Ginny. He tried to keep up, but with his body drained of energy he could only do so much. A bludger rushed past Harry, causing him to lose balance. Ready to fall, he quickly grabbed a hold of his broom. Dangling off his broom, his clammy grasp locked around the handle. The sweat on his palms made his grip slip, and he landed on the freshly cut grass. Thank Merlin he had been close enough to the ground so he wouldn't become badly injured.

Ron hovered over him. "Blimey, Harry." The ginger haired boy helped him to his feet.

Harry felt everyone's curious eyes on him.

Ginny joined the rest of their team mates. The golden snitch was trapped in between her fingers. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. He had minor bruises from the fall, but far worse things had happened to him in his life. He dusted himself off and made his way back to the locker room without a backward glance. He hated the way they were staring at him, with pity and confusion burning in their eyes. He couldn't stand it.

Ron tagged along behind him. "You're really off your game, mate."

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Ron." The irritation rose under Harry's skin.

"Don't over work yourself. You'll do better for the game, mate." Ron encouraged. He gave Harry a pat on the back. Ron then left. Maybe he had noticed that Harry wanted to be left alone.

Harry glared at the locker in front of him. He threw out a fist and punched it. It wasn't hard enough to cause a serious injury, though. This wasn't the first time he had done horribly in practice. He had done so badly the whole week. He was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team for Merlin sakes! There was no room for failure. His spirit plummeted into the pit of his stomach. Things only seemed to get worse instead of better as time passed, he realized.

After changing into his school uniform, he wandered down the halls of Hogwarts. He spotted Hermione, recognizing the back of her curly head. For a moment, his mood lifted a little, a small smile curving his lips. Running up to catch up to her, he called out to her. When she turned around, he noticed her swollen eyes. And his mood plummeted again. His smile was gone. Hermione had been crying. "What's wrong?"

She forced a smile, but it did not reach her eyes. It was fake, Harry knew. "Oh, nothing. Just have something in my eye."

He stared at her with disbelief. "Both of your eyes are swollen." She couldn't lie to him.

She hesitated before answering, "Well . . . I got something in both."

He moved closer to her. "I don't believe that."

"Fine," she snapped. "Believe what you will. I've got work to do." She hurried away.

"Hermione!" he called after her, but she vanished around a corner. She didn't come back. He clenched his fists tightly.

Ron appeared in the distance. "Hey mate. You haven't seen 'Mione have you?"

Harry's hands relaxed at his sides. "Yes, just a minute ago."

"Oh, so you saw her." Ron frowned. "She's pretty upset."

"Why?"

Ron shrugged. "She only told me someone she knew was hurting themselves, but she wouldn't tell me who."

Harry felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. The revelation made him ill. Hermione was crying because of him. He was hurting her. He didn't want his red headed friend to know, so he pretended to act clueless. "Oh, really? I figured it was because of Malfoy or something like that."

"Yes, but from the looks of it, she's very worried about them. I still don't know why she didn't go to Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore." Ron's face wrinkled with distaste. "Why the bloody hell would someone _hurt _themselves? That's a St. Mungo's case right there," Ron said.

The other boy's words took Harry aback, every muscle in his body tensing. His stomach clenched as he faced his best friend—someone who was so close to him, and yet, still knew nothing of what Harry felt. Ron was oblivious. "Maybe it relieves his stress," Harry said bitterly.

Ron stared at him in puzzlement. "How would you know the person Hermione's been crying about is a bloke?" He stepped closer to Harry and narrowed his eyes at him. "You know who it is, don't you? You two have a tendency to leave me out of things."

Harry forced a small, mirthless laugh. "Oh, come on. Ron, you're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" he countered angrily.

"Yes," replied Harry. He couldn't imagine why his friend was reacting the way he was. "I don't know who she's worried about and I only assumed the person was a bloke . . . I mean, Hermione doesn't have many female friends, does she?"

Well . . . you do have a point."

Harry couldn't take this. He needed to find her. "I'm going to go and find Hermione." He started down the corridor.

"Be careful. She's feisty, that one is," said Ron.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Sitting in the library, Hermione was lost in the book she was reading. Lost to the world entirely. It was her way of escape from the chaos that made up the world around her. Aside from a certain spectacled boy, books were the most important thing to her.

Caught off guard, someone suddenly yanked the book out from her hands. Turning, she saw Harry.

Annoyed, she glared at him. "I was reading that."

Harry looked down at the book. A smaller book was hidden between the pages of Hogwarts: A History. With a curious look, he leafed through the pages.

Hermione attempted to snatch the book away, but failed as he dodged her.

_Every inch of skin he touched seared her, and every inch that was left burned even more for him. _

A surprised expression crossed his face. "Wow . . . didn't know you were interested in reading this sort of thing." An amused smile started to form at the corner of his mouth.

Her face turned red. "Not that it's any of your business, but I had no idea this romance novel would have that—that kind of material in it." Her voice trembled with embarrassment. She cleared her throat. "I just needed to get my mind off of things."

"Seems like it wasn't only your mind that needed to get off," Harry trailed off.

"Oh, do be quiet," she muttered. "It's not even like that." For a reason she could not fathom, it was somehow more embarrassing for Harry to have caught her reading such a book instead of Ron. "That's not why you're here. What has happened?"

Harry's gaze flicked from the book to her, and back again, which caused more heat to creep into her cheeks. Harry set the books down and leaned on the edge of the table. He looked like he wanted to continue taunting her, but thankfully he didn't pursue the matter. "Ron tells me you're upset."

Hermione shut Hogwarts: A History and placed the other book—the romance novel-under it as she piled them in a corner on the table. "Do you expect me to be happy about what you're doing, Harry?" she asked.

"No, but why cry about it?" He crossed his arms firmly across his chest. "It's my problem."

Hermione sighed. "It's not only your problem. You act like doing this won't hurt anyone but yourself-but I care about you." She gazed deeply into his eyes, show how earnest she was. "I care a lot and when you hurt yourself, it hurts me. It hurts to see that you're in pain and one day you might cut too deep and . . . die." Against her will, her eyes welled up with tears. "I don't want to lose you." All of her fears came pouring out of her.

His eyes softened. Something inside him seemed to break. "Hermione . . ." His voice was little more than a whisper. She realized then that this was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him. Every time something happened, his guard would go up and he would retract into his shell. He would cover up how he really felt, she discovered. He stood up and grabbed her hand to help her stand to her feet. "You won't lose me." He pushed her against his body and wrapped his arms around her slender form.

Hermione found herself surprised for a moment, but then relaxed into his embrace. Her head gently fell to rest against his chest. She clung to his robes as if he was the only one in the world who could save her from the chaos the world had to offer. This boy meant more to her than he knew.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Harry unconsciously tightened his hold on her. Something buried inside him never wanted to let the feeling of her go. Her warmth was more soothing than she knew. Why had he always been so reluctant to let her hug him in the past? Why had it taken all this time to realize just how much her affection meant to him? Maybe this was the first time he felt like someone genuinely cared about him no matter what he did. There was a question that consumed him more than the others: was this what love felt like? He'd never really had the chance to know. Love was an enigma to him. The Dursleys' had never shown him love.

"This isn't the place for that kids," Madame Pince scolded.

Harry and Hermione immediately pulled away from each other. Blushes appeared on both of their faces. "Sorry, Madame Pince," Hermione said with a tremor to her voice. She looked chagrined. She pulled Harry by the arm and led him out of the library. "So . . ." she broke the silence as they stared at each other.

Harry stared with a longing he had never felt before. Unbidden, his eyes fell on her pouty pink lips. It was something had never noticed before, but there was a sensuous curve to her mouth. The way her lips quivered, they beckoned to him. They invited him in a way Cho Chang's lips hadn't. The direction his thoughts were taking him unnerved him. Why would he even think of that? She was just his best friend. She was Hermione Granger—the bossy know-it-all girl who spent more time reading books than actually hanging out with friends.

"Scarhead," a drawling voice came from behind.

With a grimace, Harry turned away from Hermione to face the source of voice. There stood the Slytherin prat, Draco, and his goons tagging along beside him.

The fair haired boy narrowed his eyes at Harry and raised his wand. "You will pay for what you did last week, Potter." He was referring to the fight between him and Harry that had occurred.

Harry couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "You only got what you deserve."

Draco's glare darkened, and he aimed his wand at Harry. "I should kill you. It's only a matter of time before Voldemort gets to you, anyway."

Moving forward in a rush, Harry gripped the other by the wrist. He pressed Draco's wand against his forehead. "Go ahead." There were gasps in the background as students gathered around them. Harry laughed at the face of death. He had died many deaths in the years he'd lived so far. It may not have been in the literal sense, but emotionally he had experienced death. A thousand deaths of his inner soul from the atrocities that had occurred in his life. Now, he did not fear death. In his desperation for his despair to end, Harry welcomed it.

Draco arched a brow. "Are you mad?"

"Too scared to do it?"

"Harry!" Hermione cried out. She grabbed Harry by his robes. "Please, come on." She gave a tug to pull him away, but he wouldn't budge.

Keeping eye contact with the blond, Harry tightened his hold on his wrist.

"I'm not scared," Draco denied, starting to look scared.

"Do it. Kill me!" Harry growled. To the crowd of people who watched, they must have thought his lack of fear of death was courageous, but what they didn't know was that a part of Harry longed to be rid of his life.

With a quivering hand, Draco drew away from Harry. "I'll just let my father do the job." With those last words, he left Harry standing in the middle of the passageway. Their audience began to disperse.

Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm. "Harry . . ."


	4. Save Me From Myself

**Angel Without Wings**

**Chapter 4: Save Me From Myself**

Harry started to walk past Hermione, but she grabbed him firmly by the arm. "Please, don't go."

He turned to meet her eyes, and he couldn't bear the pleading way she was staring at him. Sighing, he knew he couldn't resist her pitiful request. It was all in her soulful brown eyes. Why did she have to look at him like that? Was she aware of the power she held over him? Maybe this was why she was so bossy and managed to get her way most of the times. "All right. I won't."

She gave a small, grateful smile. "So, let's discuss this." She released her grip on his arm.

"Where? We don't exactly have privacy here, Hermione."

She looked around and noticed people coming up and down the hall. "You're right, and the common room isn't exactly private either." Her features then lit up. It was the same expression she had whenever an idea came to her, he recognized. "Come with me." Grabbing him firmly by the wrist, she pulled him to follow after her.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Shh!" Hermione tossed a glance at him. Dashing up the moving staircases, they made it to the floor where the Room of Requirement was located.

The realization dawned on Harry. "Oh." He trailed her to the end of the long corridor, until a huge door appeared. Following her inside, he entered what appeared to be a duplicate common room, although it was smaller in size. Now that he and Hermione were alone, he wasn't so sure he wanted to talk now. A feeling of uneasiness began to stir in his stomach. He settled himself beside her on the red squashy couch near the ignited fireplace. The silence stretched between them, which knotted his belly even more. His gaze was cast to the floor.

"Harry . . ." Her tentative voice broke the tense quiet. "So, how have you been since the last time we spoke?" Her voice was thick with concern.

He let out a long sigh, his eyes raising to meet hers. "I screwed up during today's Quidditch practice."

"Well, it's only practice. I'm sure you'll do fine next week in the game," she reassured.

"I did awful every day this week, Hermione." In spite of her efforts to reach out to him, he was so disheartened that his spirit could not be lifted. "Don't pretend you haven't heard about it."

She frowned. "I know, Harry." She placed a gingerly, comforting hand on his shoulder. "I have faith in you, though."

"I don't," he replied icily. His caustic tone didn't seem to faze her. The compassion he saw in her face only made him feel a twinge of guilt.

"Have you been sleeping?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"Well, Harry. How can you expect to do well for the Quidditch game next week if you don't have the energy for it?"

There she went again. She was always the voice of reason, but he didn't want to admit she was right. Not vocally, anyway.

"If you had the nightmares I have every night, you wouldn't sleep either," He shot back in defense.

Hermione expelled a quiet sigh. "I suppose I understand when you put it that way."

He shuddered as flashes of images from his nightmares rushed through his mind, reminding him, causing him to relive them. "Look, I know you are trying to help by being there for me and all, but -"

"Harry, I wish I could do more . . ." Her voice came almost as a whisper.

"There's nothing anyone can do. I just have to deal with it." He shrugged.

"You don't have to deal with it alone."

"Yes, I do. It's my battle."

This time his words elicited anger from her, which took him aback. Abruptly, she bounded to her feet and narrowed her flashing eyes at him. "Why do you keep doing this?"

Astonished at her outburst, he asked,"What?"

"Trying to do it all on your own," Hermione said. "You went through your whole life alone. Even while living with the Dursley's, you were still alone. They never showed you any love, so all you had was yourself. Now that you have people who genuinely give a damn about you, you push them away!"

Harry averted his eyes, swallowing through his tight throat. Her words stung him, but they were true. "I'm going." He stood up to leave, but he was stopped by a hard grip on his arm.

"No, don't. I'm sorry I yelled."

Glancing over his shoulder at her, he pulled his arm out of her grasp. "You can't help me." He stormed out of the Room of Requirement door exit, hurrying down the lonely passageway and down the moving staircases to Gryffindor Tower. Harry needed to get away from everyone. He needed to let his anguish and fears fade away from existence.

It was almost laughable. He was called the _boy who lived, _and yet, he didn't feel like he ever really lived. On the inside he felt dead, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to live anymore. This thing called life was a curse. He saw that most people were out at Hogsmeade so the Gryffindor common room was empty. Each footstep rebounded through the room, another reminder of how alone he was. Without thinking straight, he pulled out his wand and stared at it. The wand provided a way out of life. It was his only way of escape from the pain and the terrors that ceaselessly clawed at him. For a brief, dangerous moment, he wondered if the killing curse would work if he cast it on himself. These were maddening thoughts, but he couldn't help himself. The desperation he felt was nearly unbearable to handle. He honestly didn't care about his well being anymore. He felt numb.

Closing his eyes, he raised his wand toward his face. Its lethal tip was aimed directly at himself. If he uttered those two simple words, his life would probably be over. _Avada Kedavra. _Those were the only words he needed to say. Opening his parched mouth, nothing came out. He closed his mouth again, his eyes snapping open. His wand was shaking. No, his clammy hand was trembling. If the spell worked, would the last thing he would see be the bright green light? That same light which had killed his parents, Sirius, Cedric . . .

"Avada . . . Kedav -" His wand suddenly flew out of his hand. With a start, Harry whirled around to find a furious Hermione, wand in hand.

**...**

**...**

**...**

"I can't believe you!" Hermione shook her head, her curls angling into her pallid face. Stepping closer to Harry, she tried to keep herself from balling her eyes out. Her chest throbbed with pain for him. The mere thought of losing him was unbearable. It wasn't something she could handle. She couldn't let him go, even if he so desperately wanted out of this life. By God, she was going to hold onto him. Even if he didn't have the will to go on, she would keep him alive.

He was looking at her with eyes so tormented her own eyes pricked with unshed tears. They were so close to spilling. Turning away from her, he steadied his gaze somewhere else. "Hermione . . ." His voice a hoarse whisper. Although she feared he would leave, that any slight move she would make could scare him away, she slowly approached him. To her utter relief, he did not move from his spot. He was as rigid as a board.

She couldn't take it anymore. She dropped her wand and threw her arms around him, bringing him close to her. Heat radiated from his tense body, flush against her. She felt him quaking against her. She wanted to show him how much she cared about him. With all the love she could gather, she just held him. Harry may not have felt it, but he deserved to be loved. She wanted to show him.

She loved this boy so much, and he probably would never know just how much.

**...**

**...**

**...**

A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye, cascading down his cheek. Grasping the fabric of her blouse, he nearly clanged to her for dear life. Damn it all. For the first time, he realized he could not do everything on his own. He needed her and he had her here. This was what she had been trying to show him. All this time when all her questions had become so old and annoying to him, she only wanted to be there for him like no one else would. Hermione could always somehow see through him. She could read him easily like no other could. Here she was saving him.

Wasn't the golden boy of the wizarding world supposed to be the one doing the saving?

Well, not this time. Hermione Granger was his hero.


	5. What Love Feels Like

**My Angel Without Wings**

**Chapter 5: What Love Feels Like**

Her floral scent filled Harry's nostrils, until it was all he could breathe. His senses were saturated with her very essence. His eyes slid shut and he was lost, floating along a sea of tranquility. He had been drowning earlier, struggling to catch his breath as he'd contemplated his own suicide. His fighting had grown weak and he had given up on everything. He had welcomed death with open arms. Opening his eyes, he turned his head to see the brunette girl who'd pulled him out of the rushing waters that had been keeping him under. Inside he knew the peace was temporary, but it was good enough for him. A moment of peace was all he needed. A break from the hell that had become his life. Breathing in deeply, he took pleasure in the fact that it didn't hurt to breathe anymore. At least not at the moment. It wasn't a chore for the first time in what seemed like forever.

He felt her fingers weaving through his hair, soothing him. Perhaps it was safe to open himself up to Hermione. She hadn't shoved his pain into his face. She hadn't belittled him, yet. Still, a part of him waited for her to get up and leave, to run away from him. Scaring her away was the last thing he wanted. He dreaded it, but he wouldn't blame her for it.

**...**

**...**

**...**

They lay on a four poster king sized bed for what seemed like hours. It was purely innocent, though. She had brought him to the Room of Requirement in hopes of giving him a safe haven. The room had become a large bed chamber, complete with armchairs and a blazing hearth. It was the only place where they could get away from everyone at the castle. Inhaling softly, she allowed herself to relax, the tension in her muscles easing. Harry was lying safely at her side. Even as she wasn't watching him, she basked in the warmth and feel of his body. It was impossible not to soak it in.

One second too late and her best friend could have been gone from the world. The thought tugged painfully at her heart, mind, and soul. Her stomach lurched. A too vivid image of her standing over Harry's ashen, lifeless body flashed through her mind, twisting her insides painfully. It nearly made her physically ill. The tension in her muscles then returned as she worried herself over him. The thought of losing him was unbearable. It was impossible to imagine a world without him. It wasn't because he was the hero of the Wizarding world, either. She couldn't imagine _her _world without him.

Hermione probably loved Harry even more than he could ever love her. It was the reason her eyes lit up every time he walked into the room, the reason she felt secure, and the reason she felt so alive. This boy had brought color to her black and white world, and he didn't even realize it. He didn't see what she did. He thought himself worthless, which was the polar opposite of what the world thought of him.

She admired his unending strength more than he could ever realize. Anyone else would have lost their sanity after enduring what Harry had. Anyone else might have even turned to the Dark Lord. No-he may have been crawling, just barely making it through the days, but he was still hanging on even if it was by a thread. That made all the difference.

Anyhow, she didn't blame him for not noticing how she felt about him. Harry had enough to struggle with, and there was no fault in that. Relationships were definitely out of the question. What she really wanted to show him was all the love and support he needed regardless of whatever the circumstances. She needed to show him the love of a family he had never gotten the chance to experience. She wanted to show him that love was real despite the horrors that had shown him different.

She ran her fingers through his silken dark hair.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Harry's eyelids grew heavier, no longer able to keep his eyes open. The demons shrieking in his head became silent, the gnawing pain dissipating. He drifted off to sleep, a peaceful slumber where nightmares didn't exist.

Every now and then he would wake to soft fingers in his hair, to her warmth beside him. When the first stirrings of a nightmare crept in and he began to shake and groan, he heard Hermione whisper that it would be okay, that she was there and she wouldn't leave him. She smoothed his hair and caressed the line of his jaw, nestling closer into him. The terrifying images dispersed, leaving him in a peace that so rarely came.

He focused on her comforting touch and the feel of her breath on his neck. He was lost to sleep once more.

The next time his eyes opened, he found that he had slept the day away. He turned to find himself alone in bed. Where was Hermione? A sheet of parchment caught his eye, signed in a familiar feminine scrawl.

**I went to the library. I forgot I had a paper due tomorrow morning. Be safe.**

**-HG**

Tracing over the letters with a finger, Harry tried to remember the soft touch of her fingers. His chest tightened. He couldn't help but feel disappointed that he hadn't woken to her warmth.

Then it suddenly hit him. Harry had slept so peacefully. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to sleep that way, without a trace of horror or pain, without jolting awake drenched in sweat and shaking.

His gaze flicked to her pillow. Leaning down, he inhaled the sweet aroma of her shampoo. It soothed him in a way nothing had ever before with the exception of her gentle caresses and embraces, but then it was all Hermione. She soothed him like no other could, gave him a safe haven. She was like a drug. His drug. He only hoped that no consequences came from making himself vulnerable before her, but she had always been there. Harry couldn't imagine her abandoning him. It wasn't in her nature.

A terrifying thought struck him like an iron fist. Everyone he was close to died. His parents, Cedric, and Sirius had all died. Hermione wouldn't intentionally leave him, but what if she was taken away from him like the others? It seemed that Voldemort wanted to cause him as much pain as possible, to torture him for his own cruel amusement. Harry wouldn't put it past him to take away the only friends he had left, especially Hermione.

A sick feeling gripped him. What if by being close to Hermione, he was putting her in danger? Who was he kidding? Of course he was. He was Voldemort's target. Anyone connected to him was put in harm's way.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched the sheets in tight fists. He couldn't bear the thought of something happening to Hermione, especially because of him. Battling his selfishness, his need for her, he knew what he had to do. Harry couldn't risk it. He needed to keep her safe.

He left the Room of Requirement and made for his own dorm room. It was late enough, he decided. He climbed into bed and easily fell asleep due to his sleep deprivation. However, this time he wasn't immune to the nightmares. Only this time his nightmares consisted of Hermione's mangled body, of Voldemort torturing her and murdering her before his eyes.

**...**

**...**

**...**

When Hermione returned to the Room of Requirement, she found that Harry was gone. He must have returned to his own room to sleep the rest of the evening. So she headed back to her room, where her dorm mates were fast asleep. She quietly dressed into her pj's and climbed beneath her covers.

The next morning Hermione went to her Advanced Ancient Runes class and handed in the paper she had finished late the previous night. It was unlike her to forget her assignments. Her concern for Harry had gotten the best of her. Tapping her quill impatiently against the desk, her mind was on him and how she wanted to see him. Her anxiety gradually increased with every ticking second. The class seemed to drag on painfully slow.

Her repetitious tapping on the desk caught the professor's attention, earning her an annoyed, pointed look. It took Hermione a moment to realize what she was doing. With a sheepish smile, she set her quill down and folded her arms over her chest to prevent herself from picking it up again. Her foot began to shake instead.

When the class finally ended, she breathed out a sigh of relief, her tension melting away. She ambled down the corridor in search of her best friend.

Hours passed and there was no sign of Harry. She had looked in every possible place she could think of.

At last, she snuck into Harry's dorm, and she caught sight of the maurader's map. She snagged it and searched for his name. According to the map, he was in the abandoned girls' bathroom, the one Moaning Myrtle occupied. How strange. She hurried away from the Gryffindor portion of the castle and toward her destination.

She threw the door open and came to a sudden halt, releasing a gasp. Harry was sitting against the wall. What struck her was the river of dark red trailing down his forearms and staining the tiled floor.

Moaning Myrtle's eyes were wide as she flailed around near the ceiling. "Harry's gone mad!" she cried.

Hermione shot her a dark glare. "Leave us."

"This blood is making me sick!" The ghostly girl made a face before disappearing into the wall.

"Harry . . ." Hermione hurried to his side. Tears flooded her eyes, but didn't spill. A gleam of silver shone on the floor beside him. A blade. She helped him to his feet and turned the faucet of the sink on to help him wash away the blood. Once his arms were clean, the cuts didn't look as bad.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Harry watched as she helped him. He was bracing himself, expecting to be yelled at, to be condemned, to be called mad, along with a list of other names. But she never did and she never once looked at him with disgust, with anything but love.

Using passages that were rarely ever used, Hermione guided Harry back to the privacy of the Room of Requirement. She muttered a spell to stop the bleeding, grabbed a first aid kit which had materialized on an armchair, and began to wrap his arms in gauze. "I'm glad you didn't cut deeper," she said softly.

Harry was puzzled. "You're not mad?"

"No. I'm just sad that you're going through so much," she answered. There was no hint of anger in her eyes, or condemnation. She wasn't disgusted with him.

He searched her eyes with a frown. "Why?"

She finished dressing his arms. Lifting one arm close to her, she planted a feather light kiss on his wrapped wrist. A tear trailed down her cheek. "Because I love you, Harry."

His chest swelled with something unfamiliar. Needing her warmth, he drew her against him in a tight hug. She didn't pull away from him, but held him just as tightly. They stood there for a long time, just holding each other, and then he pulled slightly away to look at her. His fingers reached for her face, tracing her lovely features. He expected her to pull away from him, but when she didn't, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips were softer than he had imagined. Her response to him gave him satisfaction. The urge to taste her was overwhelming. The magnetic pull was powerful. His heart gave a squeeze. His tongue swept along her bottom lip.

**...**

**...**

**...**

She parted her lips to find his tongue sweeping her mouth. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she melted into him. The shock of the kiss had worn off and she began to savor it.

Here he thought that she was saving him, but he was saving her. Without him, her world would cease to exist. And she wasn't about to give him up. She wasn't going to let Voldemort win, wasn't going to let Harry give in.

Harry Potter may have been the golden boy of the wizarding world, but he was the hero of her heart.


End file.
